For Memory soon with loving pinions wheeled
In circles narrowing each successive flight;
Her sickly wings at length enfeebled yield,
Too weak to scale the walls that bound his sight.
But Hope sat with him once, and cheered his day;
And raised his limbs, and kept his lamp alight;
Scared by his groans, at length she fled away;
And left him lone,—to spend one endless night.
What change to him, then, is the vault below,